Babysitting
by burnttongueontea
Summary: A tiny story about Sherlock looking after John's daughter for the day. Just a bit of cheerfulness and light.


**I don't really buy into mushy John-and-Sherlock-as-parents fics (sorry) but I DID think it might be interesting to explore Sherlock's possible relationship with John's family, if he ever has one. So here! Have some Sherlock and child! I hope this seems in character... Forgive me for the pet names**

* * *

The first rule with young children is that you must answer their questions. Always. Fully and honestly.

"Lollo," said Sylvia, in her serious, quizzical tone of voice, "What are you doing?"

Sherlock paused his fingers on the strings and looked briefly at his charge.

"I'm tuning my violin," he replied.

"What's tuning?"

"The strings that resonate to produce the sound tend to warp and stretch over time causing the pitch of the notes to change. By tightening or loosening them using the mechanism it is possible to correct that."

Sylvia considered this with the uniquely critical expression of a seven-year-old.

"What's resonate, warp, pitch and mechanism?" she repeated, quite clearly.

Sherlock put the violin down and gave Sylvia a hard stare.

"Squid. 'What's' is an abbreviation of 'what is'. 'Is' is the third-person singular conjugation of the verb 'to be'. Since you are referring to more than one thing, you must use the plural form. What _are _resonate, warp, pitch and mechanism?_"_

_"Lollo," _Sylvia said in evident exasperation, "What _are _resonate, warp, pitch, mechanism, abbreviation, singular, conjugation, referring, and plural?"

He was startled. The feeling was unfamiliar. In the end, all it took to startle Sherlock Holmes was a child.

"You have a remarkable ability to recall unfamiliar words."

"Why won't you answer me?"

Sherlock gave up trying to maintain patience.

"There's a dictionary on the mantelpiece. Please feel free to use it. Now will you leave me to tune my violin?"

She was committed to the questions she had asked, he had to concede that. More committed than some children her age. For several minutes he was left in silence as she bowed her little head intently over the heavy book, cross-legged on her Dad's chair, all pointy knees in pink woollen tights and absurdly appealing messy bunches. He tuned the instrument carefully, then began to improvise softly, warming himself into the violin. He had just started to find his way around the shape of a melody he liked, when Sylvia interrupted rudely.

"Lollo."

He stopped and was about to snap at her, when he remembered that she probably didn't know why she was being rude. Children and their lack of understanding generally were so tiring. It seemed he was never allowed to get frustrated.

"I'm trying to play, Squid. It's not polite to interrupt."

"Interrupt? You weren't talking though. What's caesarian?"

"You've got a dictionary."

"I looked it up. It's not there. Is it _really _bad?"

"What letter did you look it up under?"

"S."

"It doesn't begin with S. _C - A - E - S - A - R - I - A - N._ Try again."

He raised the violin to his chin again, but before he could get a single note out, Sylvia said angrily,

"I don't know what surgical, incision, abdominal or uterine mean. But I'm bored of the dictionary. Can you tell me?"

Tightening his hand around the neck of the instrument, Sherlock explained, with some effort. The simplified language sounded strained and uncomfortable in his own ears.

"Sometimes doctors have to cut mummies' tummies open to get their baby out."

"Okay," said Sylvia, matter-of-factly.

"Is that it? Or could you possibly have any _more _questions?"

"Yes. Does that mean Daddy is going to cut Mummy's tummy open to get the baby out?"

He laughed out loud. Sylvia looked insulted.

"What?"

"No, of course not," he said. "A different doctor will do that. A specialist. Why am I explaining this? Who told you about it, and why didn't they bother?"

"Nobody told me." She paused, looking sheepish. "I was supposed to be in bed, but they were talking to Nan and I wanted to hear. Sorry."

If she expected a reprimand, she didn't get one. He put the violin down with a sigh.

"Squid," he said, "I want you to remember this: if anybody ever tries to tell you that you shouldn't try and learn about things which are not your business, they are wrong. Absolutely and categorically wrong. In fact, the more they are kept away from you, the more interesting and important they usually turn out to be."

"Okay." He could see it slowly occur to her that having obtained all the definitions she wanted, there was no longer anything to distract her. "Do you have any biscuits? Mummy usually doesn't give me any, but Daddy does, so it's okay for me to eat them with you."

"Is it? I was given strict instructions only to feed you fruit before lunch time."

"That's what Mummy said. I thought you did what Daddy said?"

His lips twitched. He resisted smiling.

"Go downstairs and ask Mrs Hudson. But only if you allow me to play the violin for half an hour without any interruptions."

Sylvia's face split open into a grin.

"Yes, Lollo!" she beamed. "Thanks!"

She launched herself off the chair and went pounding out of the room and down the stairs. He picked up the rhythm of her feet, and began to play to the tempo, a bright, uplifting tune.


End file.
